


The Chair

by RogerStenning



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:50:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogerStenning/pseuds/RogerStenning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A perfect chair. A fresh coffee. And an Interim Auditorial Report. What could <i>possibly</i> go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gwynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwynne/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Interim Auditorial Report](https://archiveofourown.org/works/631607) by [Gwynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwynne/pseuds/Gwynne). 



# “The Chair”

 

A Vorkosigan FanFic  
By Roger Stenning

Based on the characters, situations, and universe created, set, and owned by  
Lois McMaster Bujold. The contents of this story are for personal, non-commercial  
use only. Any use of Lois McMaster Bujold's copyrighted material or trademarks  
anywhere in this story should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights  
or trademarks. This disclaimer must remain as an integral part of this file.  
The material in this story may be used/abused by other FanFic authors, provided  
that credit is given where credit is due - "Turnabout is fair play"!

© 2013, Roger Stenning.

***

_This fic was inspired by Gwynnes ficlet “Interim Auditorial Report”, and the inevitable resulting visit from the Insane Plot Bunny™..._

***

Many thanks to Gwynne for the beta reading for this one -  
it seemed the right and proper thing to do after all, given that "It woz 'er wot started it!" ;-)

  
***

  
Gregor leaned back into his high-backed office chair, savouring the relaxing moments this gave him. The seat was a birthday gift from Laisa, she having noticed that the amount of abuse he put his office chairs to was truly heroic.

Well, that was how she termed it, anyhow; Aral had once said that Gregor got the habit of using his chair as a seated gymnastics podium from him, and that as a result, all chairs used by him were doomed, from the word 'go', howsoever finely crafted, to becoming matchsticks on a fairly regular basis, through the sheer wear and tear that they went through at his... um... hands ('Bum'? No, you couldn't address the Imperial Personage's behind in such a manner. Foolish ones who had done so in ages past, had often left the office feet-first, and in separate pieces... but that was another story...!) ... anyhow, this being the case, Laisa had instead 'ordered in', as she tended to call these 'mail order' shopping forays from Komarr.

The chair she'd had delivered was built on a titanium frame, with some form of synthetic foam whose chemical name he hadn't a prayer of pronouncing even closely, let alone properly, but which had memory-like qualities - they even called it "Memory Foam", for that very reason, in their advertising - that helped it become probably the most comfortable chair a person could ever sit in.

Then there was the covering. Pure, one hundred percent synthetic leather, that you couldn't even discern wasn't that of a genuine calfs' hide without chemical analysis, and a five-point base coupled to a self-sensing and self-balancing tilt and roll linkage that was the best that even some aerospace engineering plants produced for space superiority fighter craft.

The result was, simply put, The Chair. It was the best chair he'd even sat in, by far. And it instantly put paid to all the back-aches he'd had doing paperwork. He was even mildly refreshed on occasion, where previously, he'd been practicaly comatose. The tall order had been met, vanquished, and buried. All with a single - albeit very advanced - chair.

And now, as he relaxed into it, he contemplated the read plate he held in his hands. "A brief note, before the final tome of doom - er, my final report on this one, I mean - lands on your desk, Sire" was how Miles had put it. Gregor assumed that this meant that he held a one-page sitrep, detailing in rough terms how the banking scam had been uncovered. He picked up his fresh mug of coffee, and began to read.

His eyes snapped open to almost saucer-size. " _PTUI!_ They did _WHAT?!_ "

***

  
Laisa covered her mouth with her palm in mirth as she tried, and failed, not to giggle. "What on - HOW did that happen, love?"

Gregor pulled off his shirt, and opened the shirt drawer for a fresh one. He pulled a mildly exasperated, but at the same time rueful, expression. "A lesson in common sense and experience. Never, not ever, not even when there's a blue moon rising and flying pigs, should one be drinking a mug of steaming black coffee, when reading one of Miles' Auditorial summaries."

Only _then_ did he start to chuckle evilly...

_FIN_


End file.
